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$xhtml = array(
	'<{title}>' => 'I don&apos;t think I can go through that again.',
	'<{body}>' => <<<END
<section id="implants">
	<h2>Discussion of implants</h2>
	<p>
		Late last night, as I was going to bed, my mother insisted on seeing the holes in my gums.
		I don&apos;t see the thrill myself, but whatever.
		But then she started apologising that I hadn&apos;t had insurance for so long; as if it was her fault we could never afford insurance and as if insurance would have done anything besides postpone the inevitable.
		The only thing she&apos;s to blame for though is creating me.
		She has bad $a[DNA] and should never have used it to create offspring; I will not make that same mistake.
		Then she mentioned the hope that I&apos;d one day have better insurance that would cover implants.
		I&apos;ve been asking questions of the dentist; I&apos;ve been trying to get the information in case I change my mind.
		However, since realising just how much I need to recover from after the surgery ...
		Since realising that they&apos;re ripping holes to and into my <strong>*bone*</strong> ...
		I haven&apos;t been big on the idea of more oral surgery.
		I don&apos;t think I want implants.
		I don&apos;t think I like the idea of things jutting out of my bone and to the surface.
		Real teeth are bad enough, if not worse.
		Not only do they require a hole to the surface to pass through, they also rot ant act as a vessel for infection to reach and take hold in my jawbone.
		The idea of an implant isn&apos;t a good one though.
		While not as bad as a real tooth, they&apos;re still tunnelling through my fleshy, self-healing surface layer.
	</p>
	<p>
		One thing sticks out as the most traumatic experience I&apos;ve ever had, both because of the duration and because of the profoundly negative effect on my mind.
		It took months to recover.
		The second-most traumatic experience I&apos;ve ever had though, I think, has been this experience with the dentist.
		I was fine until the night before the first surgery.
		The short-term implications of it dawned on me then though.
		I didn&apos;t get much sleep.
		During that first surgery, the pain and the horror really got to me.
		I think I was partly in shock, too.
		Then ... the dentist didn&apos;t even finish the job.
		They left part of it for a couple weeks later.
		They told me I could have this over with in one sitting, but took that hope away from me.
		I&apos;d have to come back and experience all this again.
		The dentist mentioned wanting to make me too loopy to bike home for the next surgery, as well.
		They wanted to find me a ride, but I refused.
		I couldn&apos;t let my dental appointment commute unnecessarily burn fossil fuels.
		No one seems to care, and what I do makes so little difference compared to the combined damage everyone else causes ...
		But I can&apos;t add to the problem.
		Too much damage is being done to the planet already.
		Even if I could afford to be loopy, I couldn&apos;t take the ride, so the dentist decided it wasn&apos;t safe to dope me up next time.
		I had coursework to do though.
		The dentist was worried about safety, but I&apos;d&apos;ve had to turn down the loopy drugs myself if they hadn&apos;t decided not to use them on me.
	</p>
	<p>
		So here I was, having just gone through surgery that did quite a number on me emotionally, and the dentist now wanted the next surgery to involve heavier drugs.
		My only expectation that the dentist thought this surgery would be worse, but because I couldn&apos;t afford to take the drugs they wanted me to, it&apos;d be even worse than worse.
		I spent the nearly-two weeks between appointments dreading the next appointment.
		When it dawned on me soon after the first surgery how much I needed to recover, my horror grew.
		I would not have had the strength to go back in if not for the fact that I knew things would only get worse.
		I knew since before I met the dentist that these teeth would have to go and that there was no other option.
		During the first surgery, it got so bad the dentist had to stop and give me a short break.
		During that time, I was able to steel my nerves, so the rest of the surgery went better emotionally.
		During the second surgery, I was able to keep my strength the until it ended.
		Once I was out the door though ...
		I think I went into a mild shock.
		If not for the near-immediate onset of the pain, I&apos;d&apos;ve likely done worse; the pain distracted me well though.
	</p>
	<p>
		I don&apos;t think I can go through that again.
		Not before I have to.
		One by one, the rest of my teeth will rot.
		This is inevitable.
		It&apos;s one of a multitude of reasons I refuse to create more people out of my own $a[DNA].
		I can&apos;t knowingly inflict this on anyone, especially someone that hasn&apos;t even done <strong>*anything*</strong> to deserve it.
		Even as a small child, I&apos;ve always strongly believed that those with poor genetics, such as myself, have a responsibility not to pass their bad genes on.
		When the inevitable happens, my newly-rotten teeth will need to be extracted and I&apos;ll need to repeat this process.
		But I don&apos;t think I&apos;m up for anything extra.
		I can withstand the pain, but I don&apos;t think I can withstand the horror, at least for the time being.
		My mother doesn&apos;t seem to accept this though.
		She&apos;s mad that I don&apos;t want implants.
		It&apos;s not her body, it&apos;s not her experiencing this, and it&apos;s not her decision.
		She has no right to be angry with a decision that doesn&apos;t even affect her.
		Her lack of understanding though is painful.
		I can&apos;t help but wonder if she&apos;d act any differently if she realised I cried myself to sleep last night.
		The fact that she&apos;d think it&apos;s okay to unnecessarily impose such trauma on me again ...
		That she&apos;d think her opinions on other people&apos;s medical decisions should trump their own ...
		I have to admit this is much more in character for her though than I&apos;ve seen her acting lately.
		I&apos;d hoped she&apos;d changed, but it&apos;s clear she hasn&apos;t.
		She still considers anyone with a differing opinion than her, even about matters that don&apos;t concern her, to be unquestionably and objectively wrong.
		To her, only her own opinion can ever truly be correct, because only her own thoughts and opinions matter.
	</p>
</section>
<section id="sections">
	<h2>Journal sections</h2>
	<p>
		A while back, I got fed up with the wall of text my journal entries had become.
		I set up a set of categories to split my writing into.
		As life situations changed, so did my pre-defined categories, but there was always a set of categories at hand with which to group things into.
		I realised early this morning that this format&apos;s inflexible though.
		I often group logically-separate blurbs together because they fit into the same vague category or they don&apos;t fit into any category, and belong in the fallback category.
		For example, this paragraph on the formatting of my journal has nothing to do with the preceding paragraphs I wrote to work through the pain I was feeling last night, but they&apos;d&apos;ve both ended up in the <code>#general</code> section.
		That&apos;s kind of ugly.
		I&apos;m now deleting all the predefined categories, and going free-form.
		I&apos;ll section things based on however they need to be sectioned for the day; the results should be a lot better.
		I&apos;m not sure how to properly convey the <code>id</code>s of the sections in a nonintrusive way though.
		That&apos;ll have to come later.
		Another benefit of this new setup is that the sections can be in a more chronological order.
		Previously, there was a specific order to the sections, but now, I can put them in the order in which they occur.
		For example, this section comes before the <code>#dream</code> section today, which means it was likely at least mostly written before I went to sleep.
	</p>
	<p>
		While I&apos;m on the topic, I eventually need to clean up the markup on my old pages.
		I used to put <code>id</code>s in heading tags, but especially with the new $a[CSS] adjustments I&apos;ve made since then, they really belong in the <code>&lt;section/&gt;</code> tags.
	</p>
</section>
<section id="dream">
	<h2>Dream journal</h2>
	<p>
		I dreamed I was planning to go to a party with my coworkers.
		I put on a white, crochet dress with a fabric underlining that prevented gaps in the crochet layer from showing skin.
		It zipped up the front, didn&apos;t show my chest, and was knee-length.
		It was beautiful, but a bit thick.
		I debated back and fourth about whether I was ready for my cowerkers to see me in clothing that was so obviously feminine though.
		I mean, I&apos;ve worn women&apos;s shits to work before, but not dresses.
		I openly identify as nonbinary, but most people still think I&apos;m a man.
	</p>
</section>
<section id="tardiness">
	<h2>Tardiness</h2>
	<p>
		I knew it.
		I just knew it.
		My mother has always been one to push deadlines.
		As a child, she&apos;d always take me to my orchestra concerts (that I was <strong>*playing*</strong> in) late.
		Last night, she decided to hold me out of town for another overnight, asking when I had work this morning.
		That wasn&apos;t what we agreed to.
		I told her I needed to work an hour before I did though, and told her I needed an hour to get ready and for commute time.
		That should&apos;ve given me the two hours I needed to settle in, get ready, and make it on time.
		I knew I&apos;d only get the one hour though.
		She dropped me off late, as expected.
		I barely had time to unwind a little, I didn&apos;t have time to get lunch before work, and I didn&apos;t have time to prepare dinner to eat at work.
		It doesn&apos;t help that I haven&apos;t eaten much in days, being that I haven&apos;t been home and have been unable to control the menu.
		I&apos;m lucky that my cousin, whom with we&apos;ve been staying, was accommodating in meal preparation.
		Still though, I dont&apos; do well when I can&apos;t continually eat.
		Being an herbavore, I don&apos;t get enough energy from simple, all-at-once meals.
		Had I told her my honest work time, I&apos;d&apos;ve been late to work if I hadn&apos;t grabbed my work clothes and headed out the door in a mad rush.
		Another hour.
		Each time she cuts it this close, I&apos;m adding another hour of cushion time without her knowledge.
		I&apos;ll find the proper amount of cushion time I need to deal with my mother&apos;s inability to meet deadlines.
	</p>
	<p>
		My mother seemed to think she could buy some time by dropping me off at work, too.
		Um.
		No.
		I was going to use my bike as an excuse, saying I&apos;d need to bike to work so I&apos;d have my bike to ride it home.
		It was only an excuse, but she actually reached that conclusion without any hinting from me.
		She saw dropping me off directly at work wouldn&apos;t work out on her own, so I didn&apos;t need to say a word except in agreement with her.
		Which helps, seeing as she doesn&apos;t take well to people opposing her for any reason, as I discussed before I was able to get to bed this morning.
	</p>
</section>
<section id="university">
	<h2>University coursework</h2>
	<p>
		I was planning to finish my final unquarantined discussion post for the week today, but as I was starting it, we finally left to go home.
		I would&apos;ve finished it once we got home, but we got home way behind schedule and there was no time before work.
		I tried to fit it in after work, but the Internet connection was agonizingly slow; I wasn&apos;t able to get to the discussion forum before midnight.
	</p>
	<p>
		I might&apos;ve gotten to the discussion before midnight, but I needed to deal with other matters on this agonising-slow connection.
		For example, it seems the school&apos;s now pulling garbage claiming I haven&apos;t set a proctor for one of my two upcoming courses, even though I set one for each.
		They changed the interface on me, and the new one&apos;s incredibly bugged up.
		It shows that I&apos;ve registered both proctors, but only allows the option to resent the email to one of them.
	</p>
</section>
END
);
